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قراءة كتاب The Knickerbocker, Vol. 10, No. 5, November 1837
تنويه: تعرض هنا نبذة من اول ١٠ صفحات فقط من الكتاب الالكتروني، لقراءة الكتاب كاملا اضغط على الزر “اشتر الآن"
offer some observations upon text-books; the importance of a systematic arrangement and inspection in the management of schools; the illustration of the sciences by appropriate apparatus; and the cheering prospect which the advancement of education holds out, in regard to the stability and permanence of the American government.
H.
SADNESS.
That were most pleasant to me.'
Shakspeare.
I.
Steals o'er my gayest mood, my happiest hours;
The glory from my ardent soul is fading—
A tempest withers Hope's reviving flowers!
I know not why!
II.
Leaves its light echo joyously behind,
Tears from their secret founts mine eyes are filling;
I shudder, as the leaf shakes in the wind—
I know not why!
III.
Are they not shadows of the brightness gone,
Which make the fond heart faint, the red lip falter,
Leaving me mournful memories alone—
They tell me why!
IV.
Those days that were so glad and bright,
Oh, can we call back one?
Ah, never!—would we might!
The memories of our early years,
Shall hallow still this cherish'd spot—
And hopes, though faded, ne'er forgot,
Whose light is quenched in tears!
L. B. Smith.
YOUNG LOVE.
AN EXTRACT: BY J. G. PERCIVAL.
Freshening with every season? It is pain
To gaze, when sick and wasted, on the blue
Arching as purely o'er us, and the stain
Of the curled clouds, that gather in the train,
Which the low sun makes glorious with his smile;
To see the light Spring weave her rosy chain,
And sow her pearls, no longer can beguile,
When age, and want, and sin, our sinking hearts defile.
If we would know the sweets of life; the mind
Is then pure feeling, for no base alloy
Of gain hath blended with the ore refined
By the wise hand of Nature, who designed
The beautiful years to be alone the time
When we can fondly love, and loving find
In the adored the same glad passion chime,
As if two spirits met in one most tuneful rhyme.
Comes their soft music round us, till the air
Is one intensest melody; we beat
Through every pulse, as if a spring were there
To buoy us into upper worlds, and bear
Our fond hearts with link'd arms, on whitest wings,
To a far island, where we two may share
Eternal looks, such as the live eye flings
When it collects all fire, and as it blesses, stings.
Of Time, and make this point eternity;
Could check that onward flight, which ever steals
Hues, forms, and soul, as the twined colors flee,
Which are above the seven-fold Harmony,
Whose perfect concord meets in the soft light
That sits upon a wave of clouds—a sea
Of rolling vapor, pearled and purely white,
That as a curtain hangs the pale-lit throne of Night.
Hearts burning with a high empyreal flame,
Whose blended cones no reckless storm could sever,
But they should tremble upward, till the same
Fine point of centred heat should ever aim
Higher and higher to the perfect glow;
As Dante saw from that celestial Dame
Once loved, now worshipped, Heaven's own splendors flow,
And gather in her smile, that looked so calm below.
For a more tranquil feeling, such as home
Sheds on two hearts, whose true and lasting sphere
Is round the holy hearth; hearts do not roam,
When they are pledged by the young shoots that come,
Like the green root-twigs, sweetly to renew
Our life in their dear lives, which are the sum
Of all our after being, where we view
Heaven, as the soul's fond smile those rose-lips tremble through.
WILSON CONWORTH.
NUMBER SEVEN.
I have already described setting out for the law school at L——. After a long and tedious ride over rocky hills, we arrived late in the evening at the town. It is situated on a river, on each side of which are meadows of the most fertile soil, one mile in breadth. On the east side of this river, a short range of mountains rise, grand and imposing, from the generally level face of the country about them. Here is perhaps the finest scenery in New-England. You have a great variety within one half hour's walk. Gardens of exotics, well-tilled farms, more resembling gardens than farms, mountains, a river, woods, cottages, princely edifices; here a street like a city, and the next turn brings you into something simply rural.
Here too might be found, at a later day, the finest school in the